Somebody That I Used To Know
by it's time to ramble on
Summary: The Man of Steel is dead - so why can't Clark Kent just live a quiet life? With his son missing in Metropolis, the father of two is beginning to realise the high price of a lifetime spent hoarding secrets.
1. Endings

Clark Kent was tired. His old and battered leather briefcase lay open on the table beside him, the unmarked essays within longing for his attention. Much as he loved his job, he would gladly do away with marking thirty senior English assignments scribbled illegibly in scrappy notebooks. Not to say he wasn't proud of his students – he most definitely was, and held each of them in high regard – but he found the endless assessing and correcting of written work to be taxing. He was thankful; at least, that his son wasn't in his class – fiercely competitive at sixteen years old, Sean Jonathan Kent was tall and gangly, with a remarkable resemblance to his dark-haired dad. They shared the same bright blue eyes, and with a height six-two, the boy was sure to reach his father in the near future. Like Clark, he loved the outdoors, and had wanted to be a journalist since he first learned to read. Being responsible for his grades could have been a major cause of trouble at home.

The big man rubbed his eyes wearily and sighed, deciding that the essays could wait. He had more important things to worry about for the moment, such as whether his wife would be coming home or not.

He and Lana were separating. After fifteen years of marriage, she had decided that enough was enough, and told him that she was sick of his "indecision", as she called it, citing his "uninspired" approach to life and "penchant for secrecy" as grounds for a furtive liaison with a coworker. They had tried to keep the truth of it from Sean, and their five-year-old daughter, Martha, to protect them, but Clark was fast becoming aware that they would have to come clean soon and explain the situation, if not the gory details. He had discovered early on that the hardest part of parenting was not dealing with bad behaviour, or cleaning up dirty diapers – it was knowing just how much to share. As Lana had pointed out, he had his secrets, but with Sean fast approaching adulthood he was wondering if he should open up more, and be completely honest. There were some things about him even his soon-to-be-ex wife didn't know.

A small knock on the door interrupted Clark's heavy train of thought, and he turned in his seat to see his small daughter poking her head into the cramped home office-cum-library, filled to bursting with well-loved books and records. Stashed conspicuously on a high-up shelf was a small and shabby red suitcase.

'Dad?' she asked quietly.

He smiled gently and spread his arms invitingly. 'What is it, Martha?'

The small girl made her way through haphazard piles of paper to seat herself on his lap, biting her lip.

'Mom is here. She's in the kitchen.'

Clark stood hastily, lifting the girl onto his hip and glanced out the small window overlooking the driveway.

Sure enough, there sat Lana's gunmetal grey sedan.

'Shoot, I didn't hear her pull up.' He had been waiting for her to arrive all afternoon, and was annoyed that Martha was now caught up in what was sure to be an argument.

Martha clung a little tighter to his shirt as he moved out of the office and into the hallway.

'Stop wriggling, honey.' Clark hoisted her up a bit, higher on his hip, trying to stop her slipping.

'Should I go tell Sean that Mom is here?' she enquired, pointing up the stairs in the direction of her brother's messy bedroom.

He hesitated, choosing his words. 'Not just yet. You can go play in the yard or with your dolls - I'll come get you when I'm done talking to your mother and you can go get your brother then. How's that?'

Martha nodded accord, her messy red hair getting caught on his shirt button as he carefully put her down.

'Run along, we won't be long.'

Clark leaned heavily upon the doorpost, and exhaled. Just a few feet away was the kitchen door, and behind that door, awaiting him, was a probably-very-pissed Lana.

He ran a hand through his hair, already wanting the meeting to be over as he slowly turned the handle and entered the cozy yellow kitchen.

Sure enough, there she was, sitting at the dark wooden table and tapping her fingers against its surface impatiently.

Even when she was mad, she was still beautiful. Her long red hair was tied up in a neat ponytail, and her green eyes could still cut his heart in two. He seated himself across from her, awkwardly folding his tall frame into the chair. He folded his arms across his chest, subconsciously creating a closed body language.

'So.' He said, smiling tightly.

'So,' she repeated, ceasing her tapping.

'I was expecting you earlier, before Sean got home from school.'

Lana grew visibly more irritated. 'Well, I'm sorry. Unlike some people, I often have to work overtime.'

'Oh, believe me, Lana, I know. Tom knows it too.' It was a low blow, he knew, but discovering her fling had cut him deep, and despite his best efforts he wasn't able to forgive her right away. He didn't even know how many times she'd lied to him about where she was after hours.

She blanched slightly. 'That's not what I'm here to talk about, so can we not do this right now?'

He shrugged in a show of nonchalance. 'Well, unless you're ready to tell the kids the whole truth, I don't really know what you want from me.'

Lana spread her hands. 'I've decided that I want Martha to stay with you. Permanently.'

Clark stilled, feeling the tension in the room diffuse somewhat. He looked up and met her pained gaze, unsure of what to say.

'…Are you certain?' he asked quietly.

She nodded slowly. 'I've thought about it a lot. I know things are difficult between us, but I can tell that you two need each other. This is _your _home, and it's where she's spent her entire life. I can't take that away from her.'

Clark felt there was still more. 'Is that your only reason?'

Lana shifted uncomfortably, reddening. 'Not entirely.'

He let out a little sigh. 'Please, just tell me, else this in-between state will just drag on forever.'

'Tom has asked me to come to Los Angeles with him. I said yes.'

Clark Kent felt winded, as if someone had just punched the air right out of his lungs.

For a few minutes, there was silence.

'Clark?' There was concern in her tone.

'Yes.'

Lana looked awkward. 'I think it's for the best.'

He pinched the bridge of his nose in something like resignation. 'Will you tell them?'

The redheaded woman clasped her hands in her lap, thinking.

'I'll tell them why I'm leaving, but I think you should try a little truth too."

His stomach dropped a little bit. "What do you mean?"

She raised an eyebrow accusingly. "You know exactly what I mean. You need to tell Sean the truth about a certain Ms. Lane before he finds out for himself, and hates you for it."

"Lana, I'm not even sure if…if it was _her."_ His deep voice cracked on the last word.

Lana laughed mirthlessly, looking close to tears. "Clark, of _course _it was her. It's _always _been her. Our entire marriage I've been trying to work around this other woman – a woman I've never even met. I know you love me, but not as much as you still love _her_. I'm done settling, and so are you. I love Sean like my own, but he is _her _son."

Clark was overwhelmed with a flush of anger and unhappiness, not at Lana, but at the biting truth of her words. His calm exterior was betrayed by his faltering voice. "Lana, you know that _I can't do that._"

"The man I married could do anything. He was wonderful."

The tall man bowed his head. "If this is all about what's in that locked red suitcase, I can tell you. If you want to know what I never told you, just say so. But don't ask me to ruin my son's life."

She shook her head. "That time is past. I want to know, but you don't want to tell me. Sharing it now is worthless. I've always accepted that you were different, but since you arrived back in town years ago with your son you've shied away from whatever it was that made you _you_. Clark Kent is a shadow. You're a wonderful man, kind, generous, and a fantastic father, but you're not mine."

"And that's why you're with Tom." It wasn't a question.

Outside in the fields, the warm afternoon sun was settling into a pale dusky blue that cast grey shadows over the seemingly endless patches of golden corn.

Lana glanced at her watch. "I have to go."

"Before you go…" he paused. "You're wrong to think I didn't love you enough. And please, go see the kids. They miss you."

She ignored his first comment, and smiled awkwardly. "Of course I will. I'm their mother. That hasn't changed."

Clark stood, and stretched his tall frame as he looked about the room at the unwashed dishes, realizing just how much work he had to do.

Lana pushed back her chair and made her way to stand beside him, patting his arm uncomfortably. She seemed to know what he was thinking, and tried to offer some reassuring words.

"Clark, don't stress. This is hard – break ups are supposed to be. But you'll do great. We'll all come out of this as happier and stronger people, so don't be too hard on yourself. You're not Superman, after all."

Clark momentarily centred his attention on a loose thread hanging from his shirt, avoiding Lana's gaze. "You're right, I'm not."


	2. Your Truth, My Truth

Clark stood helplessly at the threshold of the barn, having no clue how to proceed. Martha was tucked up in bed, and he had just made one of the most difficult decisions of his life. He had decided to tell Sean the truth. So why couldn't he just make himself climb the ladder and talk to him?

Like his father before him, Sean found solace in the loft of the old red barn, and spent most of his free time up there, reading, sleeping, or even just thinking. He wasn't a quiet boy, but sometimes he fell into periods of taciturnity, causing Clark to wonder what was going through his mind as he took in the world around him.

Ducking his head as he passed through a low inner door, he reached the bottom of the ladder. He coughed.

"Dad?" the voice came from directly above him, and Clark jumped, surprised to see his son's dark head poking over the edge.

"Sean, be careful!" he wasn't really too concerned for his son's safety, but he felt he should say something nonetheless.

The boy snorted dismissively. "I've never fallen yet."

"Even so." Clark placed a foot on the bottom rung of the ladder, questioning. "Is it alright if I come up?" Even though it was his barn, he was loathe to intrude on what felt like Sean's personal space.

The boy shrugged. "Sure."

At the top, Clark pulled himself onto the loft easily, and dusted off his hands.

"It's a nice night for star-gazing." He commented, gesturing to the telescope set up by the open window.

Sean settled himself further into the old red corduroy couch, putting his feet up on the small crate-table. "It'll be good in a few more days, when the moon is full."

Clark rolled his shoulders back, a nervous habit he had picked up over the years. "Mind if I join you?"

His son patted the empty seat beside him. Clark folded himself down into the sofa, which groaned slightly under the added weight.

"What's up, Dad?" the boy turned slightly to better face his father.

"Can't I just come up to see you?" he was still contemplating what he wanted to say, and wasn't quite ready to alienate him.

Sean raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. "I saw Mom's car in the driveway."

"Ah. She didn't come say hi?"

"Nope."

Clark clasped his hands in his lap. "I'm sorry about everything that's been happening. I know it's not easy on you or Martha."

The boy shrugged again. "People have been through worse."

Clark could tell that he was affected more than he was letting on. He put a hand on his shoulder.

"It's alright to be upset, you know. You're sixteen, but that doesn't mean you can't talk to me if you need. God knows that when I was your age, I couldn't have made it without having someone to talk to, and I wasn't even dealing with all of this sort of thing."

Sean sighed, and shrugged Clark's hand off his shoulder. "Are you going to say what you came up here for?"

Clark cleared throat.

"I suppose you've been wondering what all of this…" he made a vague inclusive gesture "has come from, and I figured that you're old enough to know why your Mom…that is to say, Lana, and I are separating."

"A bit of honesty would be a nice change." Sean's acerbic tone reminded Clark of someone else, and he suddenly realized just how much his son had grown up in the past few months.

"What do you mean?"

"What were you talking about in the kitchen?"

"You heard us?"

"Yep."_  
_

_Shit._ Clark took a deep breath, bracing himself. "We were talking about you, among other things."

"And why did Mom say you needed to tell me the truth?" His gaze was stony and unforgiving, reminding Clark of somebody that he used to know.

_What have I done?_

He spread his hands helplessly, feeling overwhelmed. _The beginning is always a good place to start._

"I think you are aware that there are some things about myself I've never told you."

Sean remained silent as his father continued, visibly tense.

"When I was younger…"

"Just say it."

"When I was younger, I was a very different man."

"People change."

"Look, Sean, I know that I've upset you, but I don't need you to be rude. This is serious." He stood, and moved over to the open window, feeling stifled.

"You know that I lived in Metropolis. I was a journalist."

Sean sunk down further into the old sofa. "You don't talk about it much."

"My life has changed a lot since then, and some things are better left where they belong – in the past. But, as someone pointed out to me today, some things do need to be shared."

Uncrossing his feet on the table, Sean looked up at his father expectantly.

"I don't suppose you've ever wondered about why your... about why you were born a year before the wedding?" Clark flushed slightly.

"It's the twenty-first century, I figured it was sort of normal. I don't like to question that sort of thing."

"Ah." He glanced over his shoulder to regard his son. "The truth is." He removed his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose, feeling jittery. "I found you. When I married Lana, she agreed that it would be best for you to keep it a secret."

"I know she's not my mother."

An icy silence settled over the room. Expressionless, Sean stared at his father.

Without his glasses on, he couldn't fully make out his son's face, but Clark thought he was a little green, as if about to be sick.

Deciding that this was the most difficult conversation he had ever had, Clark perched himself on the arm of the sofa.

Silence.

"I came home from a long trip, and found you waiting for me, with no note, no explanation. Before that moment, I had no idea that you existed."

As is often the case with those in shock, Sean ignored the magnitude of this revelation, and grabbed for the next logical question.

"How do you know I'm even yours?

"I just know."

"But how do you know?" His young voice was shaky, tinged with anger and doubt.

Clark had no hesitation in answering. "When I saw you, I just _knew_. I can't explain it, but I had this absolute certainty that here was a little person come to make my life that much brighter after everything that had happened. I didn't even know that I was able to have children, but there you were, tiny and perfect, looking so much like me, but with your mother's curls."

Sean's bright blue eyes regarded him intently as he folded and then unfolded his hands, waiting for an explanation.

"Like I said, things were different back then. I loved this woman, but when she broke it off with me I needed to get away. I went on a very long trip. I wanted to find my biological family."

"I thought you said it never mattered to you that you were adopted." Sean's tone was almost accusing.

"It didn't – my parents were wonderful. But I felt lost, and I suppose you could say I was flighty back then, always wanting a challenge. Someone convinced me that it would be good for me, but I was wrong to go. A lot of bad things happened on that trip. It grounded me, in more ways than one. And suddenly finding myself a father, I made a choice not to keep pursuing whatever it was that pushed me over the edge. "

Sean nodded, as if letting this information sink in. "What was my mother's name?"

Knowing that it was a terrible idea, Clark blurted it out. "Lois."

"Lois _Lane_?" The boy wore a shocked expression of sudden comprehension.

With a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, Clark bobbed his head. "How do you know that name?"

"I took twentieth-century history last year. The Death of Superman was part of the Recent History module. Most of the primary sources we studied were her articles. I never made the connection, though. I didn't realise you _knew_ her when you worked at _The Planet_."

With a look of shock, Clark turned to face his son. "You never told me you were studying that."

"I figured you probably wouldn't care. You've never been much of a fan of Superman, and for you it's recent memory. I don't see why it matters."

Clark shook his head. "It doesn't. But promise me, Sean, that you won't go looking for her. I don't want you to get hurt ever more than you already are."

"I don't want anything to do with a woman who abandoned me."

Feeling ashamed, Clark knew he should set things straight. "Don't be too hard on her. She was a good person, and I doubt that she would have done something so drastic without a very good reason. Not only were we young, we were partners. We investigated everything from crime rings to government cover-ups. When I left, it could have been dangerous for people to know about you."

"You never tried to contact her?"

He paused, deliberating. "I was gone for a long time."

"I don't suppose you'll ever tell me the whole truth, then."

"I wish it were that simple."

"Dad, I need answers. I can't live with all of these half-truths. You've hidden things from us all along, but now it's time for you to come clean. You can't come in here saying you'll be honest, expecting me to calmly accept the fact that you've lied to me my whole life, and then refuse to tell me everything. I don't understand your need for secrecy. These things you talk about happened close to twenty years ago."

Pushing his glasses back onto his face, Clark Kent saw before him a young man who had been shaken to the very core. "Every single day I thank my lucky stars that you don't take after me. You have so many questions, and your sharp mind can't help but look for answers. But please, if you have ever trusted me, trust me now. It's not the right time to go digging around. I promise, I _will _tell you everything, but with what's going on in the world at the moment, it's too risky. I can't compromise your safety."

"I don't understand."

"Can we talk about this tomorrow? It's late, and we're both getting pretty emotional. I need to check up on Martha."

"You've always got an excuse, haven't you?"

Clark didn't reply.

As Sean watched his father turn and descend the ladder, he felt something had changed between them.

His father was not the man he thought he was.


	3. Big Smoke Blues

He was absolutely certain that this was the right thing to do.

As Sean stood waiting at the platform, he wondered how long it would take his father to realize he was gone.

_Would he even care? _

He had packed his bags over the course of a few days, gradually stealing food and supplies from the kitchen so as not to arouse suspicion. He had sold his bike to a friend, emptied his life savings jar, and taken some money out of the bank. He didn't really have a plan, but he needed to get away from Smallville and his mess of a home life.

Since the conversation in the barn, things had been increasingly awkward, and the last time he had seen his father, the big man had been attempting to repair an old tractor, cursing softly when he couldn't get a screw loose, not realizing that Sean could hear him. He had spent every night after work looking through old boxes in his study, ignoring a growing pile of paperwork and Sean's attempts to get him to talk.

Clark Kent was a gentle giant, but stubborn as hell when he wanted to be. Sean had eventually given up.

A loud announcement came over the PA system, shaking Sean out of his reverie. _Ten-thirty express to Metropolis now boarding_.

He picked up his few bags easily and made his way to the edge of the platform, where an older-looking train was waiting.

_I have no idea what I'm doing_, he thought, as he handed his ticket to the conductor.

Claiming to be sick, he had asked his father for the day off school and snuck away after the other two left the house. He didn't think anybody would really care about a sixteen year old obviously skipping school, but his father was well-known in Smallville, and it would be all too easy for Sean to be seen by the wrong person, and have word get back to his family.

Taking the stub of his ticket from the bored-looking conductor, he hoisted his suitcase, an old red one he had found stacked up high in his father's study, and walked briskly down the aisle of the nearly-full train, choosing an empty seat beside the window, near the back of the carriage. Having started from Topeka earlier in the morning, the train was bound to fill up quickly, and much as he hated snobs, Sean did not want to get stuck next to a noisy kid or someone who might know his dad as they passed through various small towns en route to the Big Apricot. Shuffling awkwardly into the cramped space with his luggage, he tried and failed to avoid hitting his shoulder on the overhead rack – fortunately, it didn't hurt, and he was more concerned at the small dent left in the metal from coming into contact with his case than at the prospect of a bruise.

Deciding he would need all of his energy over the coming few days, Sean leant his head against the window pane to rest, but was soon put off by the constant rattling that vibrated though the glass and made his teeth chatter. He shifted slightly, leaning back into the garish and prickly polyester fabric that covered the seat. With the warm sun on his face, and his backpack tucked securely under his arm, he slowly drifted off into a light sleep.

Only to be woken with a start what felt like minutes later by the frustrated curses of a petite woman standing beside him, struggling to push her bags into the overhead rack. Rubbing his eyes and yawning sleepily, he realized that she couldn't quite reach the shelf, and was in danger of dropping a bag on her head. Waking himself up, he got out of his seat, taking trouble not to bang his head.

"Ma'am, let me." He reached over and gently took the bag from her hand, placing it easily on the ledge.

She smiled gratefully, obviously a little surprised. "I didn't realize you were awake. Thank you."

Wiping her hands on the side of her jeans, she took the empty seat beside him. "I hope you don't mind, the train's pretty full."

He yawned again, and hastily covered his mouth. "No no, it's fine. Where are we, anyway?"

Judging by the position of the sun, he had been asleep for quite some time.

"I just got on at Central City a few minutes ago."

That meant Sean had been asleep for nearly four hours. Checking his watch, which read two o'clock, he realized that in just a few more hours he would reach Metropolis. He sighed, feeling impatient.

The woman flipped open a glossy edition of _Reader's Digest_. "Are you going all the way into Metropolis?"

He nodded.

"Visiting family or something?" she was politely curious, not taking her eyes off the magazine in her hands.

"Uhh…" he hesitated stupidly, "not exactly."

She turned a page. "Running away?"

There was no point denying it. "I guess you could say that."

She smiled knowingly.

"How did you know?" he wasn't exactly loaded with luggage, and he didn't look too young to be out on his own.

She closed the magazine. "Because when I left home at sixteen I had the exact same expression on my face as you do now."

Sean was surprised. He wouldn't have picked this woman as the running away type, but he was interested in her story.

"Why did you decide to leave?" He hoped he wasn't invading her privacy too much, but she seemed happy to share.

She shrugged nonchalantly, almost smirking as she recalled the memory. "Couldn't stand my dad." She paused, "what about you?"

Trying to sound casual, he replied. "Same sort of deal, really."

She raised an eyebrow, and Sean couldn't help but feel she was amused. "What was it, a fight about girls? College? I could help you with both of those."

He cracked his knuckles, a bad habit he had developed years ago, deciding that he could trust this woman. "Not exactly." He paused, considering his words. "My dad's normally a pretty cool guy – the sort of father figure you see on movies, I suppose – but he and my mom," he stopped midsentence – it felt wrong to call Lana _mom_ in light of recent events, but he shrugged it off - "he and my mom are separating, a lot of old rifts opening up. Y'know, typical divorce stuff."

The woman regarded him intently, a sad look on her face. "I'm sorry you have to go through all of that."

He spread his hands in an unconcerned gesture. "It's not so bad."

She suddenly seemed to remember something. "I just realized you're telling me your life story, and I don't even know your name."

"Jonathan," he lied easily, taking his grandfather's name.

"Nice to meet you, I'm Margot Mays." She extended a small hand, which he shook awkwardly, turning sideways slightly to reach.

After a moment, she opened up her magazine again, and Sean couldn't help but catch a glimpse of the article.

_Superman Memorial to be erected in Centennial Park._

Margot caught him looking, and turned the booklet so he could see a little better, pointing at a brightly-coloured picture opposite the title page.

"Centennial Park is beautiful. You should definitely make an effort to get there while you're in town."

She skimmed over a few pages of the article, clearly uninterested in its contents.

"It's sort of odd that they're building him a memorial when no one even knows if he's really dead, don't you think?"

The Death of Superman was a collective memory in the minds of Americans, and indeed, of people all around the world, but all anyone really knew was that Superman disappeared after a meteorite crashed to earth nearly seventeen years ago. No body was ever found, but fragments of a strange greenish crystal – later identified as kryptonite, a toxic substance - had been discovered at the site of the crater, right alongside a wrecked capsule of some sort, which was generally assumed to be Superman's spaceship. Based on the way so much of the titanium-like shell of the ship had been worn away through friction, scientists, for the most part, agreed that The Man of Steel's body would have been vaporized upon re-entering the earth's atmosphere. The reason for his extraterrestrial expedition remained officially unknown, but nearly all Superman experts believed he had attempted to return to his home planet. Like with any unusual circumstance, conspiracy theorists claimed Superman was living in Rio with Elvis, or that it was a cover up, and he was currently undergoing medical testing in a secret government facility like Area 51. Sean didn't particularly believe he was still alive, but had always been fascinated by the case, and often worked it into a conversation in order to hear people's different opinions.

Margot Mays frowned slightly. "He was a good man. Let people give him a monument if that's what they need to feel safe again."

"What do you mean?"

She sighed. "Look, kid, you're too young to remember, and I don't really want to get into a debate about it."

Sean dropped his gaze, feeling sheepish. "Sorry." He supposed he got it from his ex-reporter dad, but he had always asked too many questions.

She shook her head, letting him know she wasn't offended. "No need to be. Since his…disappearance, or whatever happened, the crime rate in Metropolis alone has risen exponentially. Not to mention nine-eleven, Iraq, Afghanistan, or Hurricane Katrina. Not to say that those things were necessarily preventable – they weren't – but I think we realized then how much we needed a saviour. City slickers like me have always prided ourselves on doing it our own way, but since he left us, census records show that in Metropolis and surrounding areas, one point five million now identify themselves as having religious beliefs, compared to eight hundred thousand twenty years ago. That's a third of the population. I'm not saying it's got anything to do with the Boy Scout's disappearance, but it's interesting to note."

The boy was a little startled at her incredibly in-depth knowledge. Most people normally shrugged off his questions. "You sure know your stuff."

She waved the magazine at him, smiling. "I made it my personal quest to always be up to date with current affairs." She pushed a strand of brown hair off her forehead. "But then again, I have been around quite a while. It's amazing how facts just sort of accumulate in your head, only to be unleashed years later onto unsuspecting young travellers. Thirty years of reading the newspaper everyday leaves you with a pretty cohesive picture of what's happening the world."

Sean had initially thought she looked about thirty-five, but her admission put her in his mind at closer to forty.

"Have you lived in Metropolis your whole life?" Talking to Margot was as good a way as any to pass the time.

"On and off, yes. I can tell you're not a city kid." The last part was posed as a question.

"Farm boy, born and bred." He reddened slightly. "This is actually my first time going to Metropolis."

She turned to him, quirking an eyebrow in disbelief. "Really?"

"Yeah. I suppose I don't really know what I'm getting myself into, huh?"

Margot shook her head. "Metropolis is a big place – it's all too easy to get lost in the crowd. You want to make sure to find yourself a place to stay. Somewhere like YMCA. I've seen far too many young men out on the streets with nothing to do and nowhere to go."

Feeling suddenly apprehensive about his lack of planning, he pulled a crumpled piece of paper from his jacket pocket. "I did a bit of research on that sort of thing." He tightened his grip on the paper as the train jolted. His head knocked lightly against the window, and he rubbed the sore spot with one hand as he continued speaking. "I've heard that Luthorcorp opened up a new shelter just near the CBD. They offer apprenticeships in various businesses owned by the company. It sounds pretty good."

"I wouldn't know, I've been out of town for a while. There are always new places opening up, and old ones closing down. But I'd be careful with Luthorcorp if I were you - don't go signing any contracts without reading them first. The Luthorcorp subdivisions are just puppets, that is to say, they have strings attached."

Sean took in her words, inclining his head. "I'll keep that in mind."

She leaned back in her seat, looking pensive. "A word to the wise, too. You can't run away forever."

With that, she closed her eyes, and Sean realized she was going to sleep.

Thinking about her words, he reached into his backpack and grabbed a well-loved copy of _Dracula_.

The train shuddered, and slowed down as it approached a platform. An announcement came over the speaker system.

"_We are now arriving at Bigtown Station. "_

_Not long now._


	4. Pack Your Plaid Shirts

'Look, Clark, we've done all we can from Smallville. If you have _any _idea at all where your son might have gone, you need to tell us now. Metropolis is a big place, if that's where he's gone he could easily be lost and hungry. It's been nearly a week – generally we start to lose hope about now.'

'Pete, I've told you everything. You know it's a tricky situation to say the least. Will me running after him really be of any help?' Clark spread his hands in a questioning shrug.

'I think it will be an enormous help. You know the way he thinks, what sort of places he might be drawn to. Going there might trigger a memory of something Sean said, or someplace he's mentioned.'

Clark let out a frustrated sigh.

Pete flicked over a page in his blue manila folder. 'Buddy, I know how difficult this is for you. Lana's gone, and you've got a four-year-old to think of. But, as your friend, I have to be honest. You need to get your act together. This can't go on any longer.'

''What do you mean, "get my act together"? My _son _has run away from home, Lana may as well have disappeared into an abyss, judging from the total lack of contact I've had from her. She didn't even return my calls, Pete. I left a message on her answering machine, 'hey honey I've lost the kids'. No response. She's off with her new beau in LA. Worst of all, I'm still not even sure of why she left. And Martha keeps asking when she's coming back. I have no answers for anyone.' An almost-hysterical laugh escaped his lips, and he rubbed his eyes wearily.

Pete placed a hand on his shoulder sympathetically. 'It's rough, you can't deny it, but this apathy doesn't suit you, Clark. You used to be so full of life, you would've been down to Metropolis quick as a flash, notepad in hand, finding clues and solving the mystery. You would have had the job done by now. This inaction isn't you.'

Clark Kent shook his head wanly, eyes downcast. 'I just don't know where to start. It's a mess. This is not how I had envisaged my life.'

'And when I got caught shoplifting from Hobb's at fifteen, I never though I'd end up as sheriff, yet here I am. You can't plan life; you've just got to make the most of what it throws at you. And hey, it's not so bad. You've got a beautiful daughter who still believes her dad can save the world.' Pete smiled reassuringly, glancing towards the garden, where Martha was enjoying the summer afternoon with her collection of dolls. "Perhaps it's time you stop worrying, and do what you know you need to."

The old wooden deckchair groaned slightly as Clark shifted his weight, leaning forward over the small outdoor table, reaching for his mug. He took a moment to savour the warmth of his coffee.

'I'm not apathetic, by the way.'

Pete snickered. "You? You've hardly left the farm in years. "

'That doesn't mean I don't care. It just means my priorities have changed. We're not twenty anymore. We can't just up and leave when it suits us, you know that. We've both got families to think of.'

'That's my point.' Pete tapped his badge, as if asserting his legally recognised authority. 'Your little family looks to me like it's falling apart. You need to pack your plaid shirts, get in your car, and take that little girl of yours to find her brother. Don't worry about Lana. Don't worry about the farm. Those things can wait. Worry about where Sean is.' He emphasized his words by gently thumping the table.

Clark felt about twelve years old again, a boy being reprimanded for forgetting to muck out the barn. He did not like it. He was a grown man – a father, and, for however much longer, a husband of sorts. A lifetime of secrets was not without consequences, and now it was time to face them.

Despite his protests, he was resigned to his fate. 'Do you have any leads in Metropolis? It's been sixteen years since I was last there. I wouldn't know where to start.' His blue eyes flickered with uncertainty.

Pete smiled, please with himself. 'You said that Sean had little to no money with him, so I've been looking into likely charities and shelters. If he's been to any of them, he hasn't used his real name, but I'll continue to check YMCA, hostels, Luthorcorp, all the big ones."

Clark blanched, 'Luthorcorp?'

The sheriff looked at him tentatively, as if trying to understand something. 'Yes.' He flicked through his file book again. 'They've just opened a new programme, "Help Our Boys" or something equally pretentious. It's all publicity, if you ask me. The CEO hasn't lifted a finger to aid the less fortunate for years."

Pete genuinely cared about people, no matter what their background, something Clark had always admired about him. That, and his uncanny ability to tell him exactly what he didn't want to hear.

"I know I need to go there. I want to go, to make sure he's safe, but to be perfectly honest, Pete, I don't think he wants me to find him. We had a difficult conversation just before he left."

The other man gave him a knowing look. Pete was his oldest friend, and had always been aware that Lana wasn't Sean's biological mother. "I see." He made a note in his file.

"Don't write that in the blue book."

Pete looked up. "Don't worry, there's nothing about all that. Just a note to other officers looking into it that Sean may be very emotional right now. I take it he wasn't happy?"

Clark shook his head. "That would be an understatement. I didn't even fully know what I was going to say, it just all came tumbling out. I told him I couldn't tell him everything just yet. I felt terrible, but I don't think it's a great idea to go digging all of that up right now. There's too much going on. Obviously, Sean disagreed." He smiled, wanly. "In true Kent style, he's stubborn as an ox when he wants to be."

"They say you always get the children you deserve." Sheriff Ross chuckled. "Which is why yours are so good."

The old friends lapsed into a comfortable silence.

Then, "Do you think Rachel would accept my resignation on such short notice?"

Rachel Sullivan was the principal of Smallville high, a stern but good-natured woman who Clark counted among his friends.

Pete Ross looked shocked. "Whoa whoa whoa._ Resignation_?"

Clark shifted uncomfortably. "Well, who knows how long I'll be gone? It's become apparent lately that I need to focus on my family."

The sheriff grimaced. "Ask for compassionate leave. You don't want to lose your healthcare benefits. What if Sean catches something on the streets?" As always, he was thinking of the practical things.

"I guess you're right." He didn't want to mention that neither of his children had ever so much as been to the dentist.

"If I were you, I'd tell her the whole situation. Sean is a student there, and you don't want an unexplained absence like this on his record when he applies for colleges. Besides, quitting is a terrible idea in this job market. Ask her for a fortnight off, and we'll see how we go."

Clark drained the last of his coffee, glancing around the yard to check on Martha. "I suppose I better get the car ready for a long trip."

Chuckling, Pete pushed back his chair slightly. "I hope Martha doesn't get car sick."


End file.
